


Possible (25/39)

by Mexta



Series: Possible [25]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, post-412
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 04:28:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2374550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mexta/pseuds/Mexta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aftermath of the cat</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possible (25/39)

Ian crashed a few days later. 

Fortunately it didn't happen immediately after the night of the Ben-Wa adventures, so Mickey was able to ride his sex high for a little while. And from Ian's smug amusement in the aftermath it was clear he had no regrets either. Mickey could convince himself that the sex itself hadn't caused the crash.

But whatever it was, as usual, Ian wouldn't or couldn't explain anything. Mickey left him alone for a day or two, hoping the meds would kick in or the brain chemicals -- as he'd learned to think of the root of Ian's moods -- would change course. 

Meantime he had chance to wrap up a few things he hadn't wanted to explain to Ian. He'd finished distributing the shipment he'd ordered and made most of his collections. The cash was enough to pay up-front for a year at Malcolm X. He spent a couple of days there, talking to counsellors, filling in form after form, and taking tests of one kind or another. By the end of it, everything was ready to start in the summer term -- alternative high school courses at night and a technical program during the day. If all went according to plan, he'd graduate in a year with both a GED and a certificate. 

That left him a couple of weeks to get his reading up to speed. He was still working on that with Carl, and it was actually Carl, coming by one day to drop off some more reading material, who commented on Ian's condition. 

"Yeah," Mickey agreed, as they stood in the doorway watching Ian lie silently in bed wrapped up in a sheet. "He's been that way for a coupla days."

"He been to the clinic?" Carl asked.

Mickey shook his head. Ian was on a biweekly schedule now, with group and individual sessions immediately following each other. He wasn't due in for another week.

"You gotta call them," Carl said.

Mickey lifted an eyebrow and went over to the bed. "Hey, Ian," he said, reaching for Ian's shoulder. "I get you an appointment tomorrow, you go in?"

Ian didn't answer, just shrugged Mickey's hand off lethargically and turned away from them. 

"Call them," Carl said, as he and Mickey went out, shutting the bedroom door behind them. "I'll get Lip or Fiona to come over and help you get him in there."

The nurse at the clinic returned Mickey's call right away and made time for Ian the next day. She told Mickey not to worry and said these kinds of setbacks were normal; but it was hard not to feel like they were starting all over again. 

***

It didn't take quite as long for Ian to show some improvement this time. The nurse made adjustments to his meds and put them all back on a weekly schedule for sessions, which was a bit of a pain but seemed to help. Within a week or so, Ian was able to get out of bed most days and would sometimes carry on a conversation or take a bit of interest in the rest of the world. They were a long way from another visit to the Jackhammer -- not that Mickey had any interest in that, of course -- but at least he was talking.

And spooning. Since that night with the Ben Wa beads, Mickey had made a point of curling up behind Ian most nights, instead of keeping his distance on the other side of the bed as he had been earlier. Mickey wasn't exactly a cuddler, but he didn't ever want to go so long without physical contact again. And when he'd asked -- the day after, while they were both still on a bit of a high -- Ian had readily agreed. 

"Long as you know it's not going anywhere," Ian said, sliding over toward the window to make room for Mickey in the bed. 

"I know it's not goin' anywhere _inside me_ ," Mickey agreed, reaching around to grope amiably at Ian's soft -- but still respectable, he often thought -- dick. "Don't mean nothing's going anywhere."

Ian might have chuckled a little, and Mickey threw an arm over Ian's hips and rested his chest against Ian's back, and that's they way they'd been sleeping ever since, even when Ian had slipped back to his unresponsive state. 

Soon after his mood began improving again, Ian told Mickey a bit of interesting news. "She's giving me something else," he said one morning, as Mickey brought him his usual cocktail of beer and pills.

"Who is? What?"

"Nurse at the clinic. She added another med."

"Oh." Mickey rolled his eyes. "How many pages'a side effects this one have?"

"That's what it's for." Ian fumbled around the floor, rifling through the pockets of the clothes he'd been wearing the day before. "Side effects." He found another package of pills and held them out to Mickey.

"Bupropion?" Mickey read out, and shot Ian a puzzled look. "Ain't that just another antidepressant?"

"Supposedly it helps with the libido. That's sex drive, Mickey."

"I knew that," Mickey lied indignantly. "So, what -- you're doubling your dose now?"

"The other ones went down a little. She thinks this combo might help." Ian took the package back from Mickey and shook out a pill. "Better hope so," he added, washing it down with another swig of beer. "After this comes the Viagra."

"Aw, Jesus," Mickey muttered. But he had to admit to himself that if nothing else worked, he might reach the point where he'd welcome a Viagroid boyfriend.

***

"Where you going today?" Ian asked, slouched at the breakfast table with his toast.

"Who says I'm goin' anywhere?" Mickey hedged.

Ian lifted a shoulder. "Svetlana's turn for Yevgeny. You always go out on free days."

"You keepin' track, smart guy?"

"Nothing else to do in this shithole."

"No one's sayin' you gotta stay here, fuckwad."

"So I'm not. I'm going with you. Where we going today?"

"No, I meant ... " Ian started to explain, confused. 

"Hey, assface." Mandy came out of her room and tossed something on the table. "Carl dropped this off for you yesterday."

Mickey reached over to grab it, but Ian was too fast for him.

" _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._?" Ian read out. "Since when do you read Marvel?" 

"What? I like Nick Fury."

Ian chortled. "You're borrowing _comics_ from _Carl_? So much for badass Mickey Milkovich."

"Fuck you, Gallagher, I -- "

"Oh, Mickey's still got a pretty bad ass," Mandy said, smirking.

"Since when did you two douchebags start tag-teamin' me?" Mickey demanded. "Fuck both'a ya. I'mma take off."

But Mandy blocked his way. "No way. You promised you'd take me to the range today."

"Range?" Ian said, looking up. "What range?"

"Firing range down by the tracks," Mandy told him. "I need to work on my target practice."

"Really?" Ian said with interest. "Guess I'll join you."

Once again Mickey was torn between relief at Ian's newfound energy and anxiety about his immediate plans. He wasn't sure exactly why he didn't like it, but something about the idea of Ian joining them at a firing range seemed like a bad idea. 

"Nah, Ian, you stay here. We won't be long. I'll be back, we'll ... "

But Ian was already following Mandy out of the kitchen. "What kind of ammo you using?" he was asking her.

Mickey lifted his hands and rolled his eyes, then tossed the comic into his bedroom, grabbed his coat and trailed behind them to the front door.


End file.
